


What Love Did Seek

by eirana



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-29
Updated: 2011-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eirana/pseuds/eirana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He said to himself,<br/><i>With my song</i><br/>I will charm Demeter's daughter,<br/>I will charm the Lord of the Dead,<br/>Moving their hearts with my melody.<br/>I will bear her away from Hades.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Love Did Seek

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 2 of [](http://kradamadness.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kradamadness**](http://kradamadness.dreamwidth.org/) and inspired by the beautiful [art](http://kradamadness.dreamwidth.org/27742.html?#cutid1) created by [](http://katekat.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://katekat.dreamwidth.org/)**katekat** . Started forever ago as a comment!fic and finally finished.

There are benefits to the modern world.

Most of the others don’t enjoy the anonymity this new, cynical world offers, but Adam does. There are many who miss the days of old, when adoration was given daily with a reverence that was often rooted in fear, not devotion. They cared not why the fidelity was given, only that it was there. They are vain, selfish creatures, the gods.

Adam is different, but then, Adam hadn’t been there in those times. He hadn’t seen the great temples in their prime, gleaming marble and stone, overflowing with gifts from the masses, a means of appealing to those who held their fates in their hands.

Adam thinks little of the ways of old, of the gods who cling steadfast to that decaying world. It is an old world, a dying world and Adam thinks it should die in peace. He thinks little of the gods and they do their best to ignore him; he is nothing to them. Adam remembers very little of his early life, but one thing that has always stayed with him is the question of his parentage.

Some say that he is the son of one of Apollo’s muses and a mortal man, birthed in secrecy and left on Olympus for Zeus to decide his fate. That he was raised by the Muses—his mother supposedly among them—was a lucky happenstance. Others say that he is the son of Apollo himself, the result of an affair with a mortal woman. This theory first came to be when Apollo showed favor towards him, doting upon him as a father would. The gods can sense that he is one of them, at least in part, but they have never decided what to make of him.

What the gods think of him hasn’t mattered to him for a very long time. The world of the gods is where he began, but soon the mortal world had called to him. There is so much more to the world than what they had shown him in their sheltered corner of it. He left Parnassus many years ago and never looked back.

The world of the gods is not where Adam had wanted to be. The mortal world is full of all sorts of wonders, and in his first few years away, he’d learned of all the things the gods refused to acknowledge. They had shunned the world when they lost their sway over the people, when their hold had slipped and they fell into the realm of myth and legend, no longer real to mortals. All they are now are stories and fantasies.

In doing so, they’ve missed all that’s happened since.

Adam is fully immersed in the mortal world. He has a house, friends, a life. For all the longevity of a god’s life, they do very little; mortals are different. They’re vibrant and lively, always in motion. They do so much in so little time, as if to make up for their brief lifespan by filling it with as much as possible. They don’t know that he’s different from them, and in all the ways that matter, he isn’t. He loves how they live life.

But he does have the gods to thank for this.

Whether he is the son of Apollo or Calliope, he owes his gift to them. Music is the one thing he thanks them for. Without the ichor that flows in his veins, he wouldn’t have his gift. Or perhaps he would, but the blood of the gods makes it more potent. Adam has the gift of music. No one and nothing can resist him. His voice can bring all living things to his power, can charm any and everything. Only Apollo himself can rival his voice.

Adam thanks the gods for this one thing, because without it, he wouldn’t have Kris. Had. He _had_ Kris. The grief is still as crippling now as it was then. It’s been some time since Hermes took him away to lead him to the Underworld. Hermes had been kind. Very few of those who reside on Olympus look fondly upon him, but Hermes is among their number. He had delayed the journey for as long as he could, giving Adam those last precious seconds with Kris.

He held him as he lay dying. Kris had told him not to grieve for long; there would be others. He was nothing but a flash in the pan, a lover Adam would quickly forget; the gods often forget their mortal lovers.

He will never forget Kris.

Their meeting had been by chance. Many fell at his feet at the sound of his voice, but Kris had been different. He’d been charmed by it, true, but he hadn’t lost his reason the way so many others did. Kris had loved him for more than his voice. Adam had loved him with everything in his being. Their joy had been great but brief.

Someone known only as the Viper had landed a fatal blow, killing Kris with a deadly poison, quick and untraceable. He knows not why, and the Viper had refused to speak, even with the rage of several goddesses of war upon him. Adam only wishes that they’d left something for him after they were done.

He is going mad from the grief. It’s as if the Furies are there in his ear, goading him on. That is the only explanation he can think of for what he is about to do. Adam doesn’t like to enter the world of the gods. He abhors them and all they stand for. For Kris, he will face the god mortals fear most.

~*~

The Underworld is a place no one likes to linger. Even the Fates, who hold so much sway that even the almighty Zeus fears them, feel uneasy at the thought of entering Hades’ realm.

Adam feels nothing.

It is a dark, cold place, devoid of anything that inspires emotion, good or bad. In the land of the dead, there is nothing to comfort the souls who end up here. They do not suffer for eternity like those in Tartarus or dwell in paradise like those in the Elysian Fields; here they wait. Hades will make them wait for as long as he wishes. Sometimes, it takes only seconds for him to pass judgment. Often, it takes years.

His eyes strain as he tries to make out the faces of the listless souls that dwell here; Kris isn’t among them. He charms Charon into giving him passage over the River Styx, a few honeyed words and the sound of his voice enough to convince him, with or without payment.

Adam isn’t scared of Hades. He doesn’t hate or love Adam; the affairs of those on Olympus matter little to him. He is always impassive and unreadable, as colorless as the kingdom he rules over.

Adam has a plan, or at least the bare bones of one. His gift is music. He is the son of a Muse or Apollo, depending on who you ask. His voice can bend any living thing to his will, and Hades is no exception.

Adam finds him seated on his throne, Persephone, his queen, sitting beside him, beautiful and expressionless. Hades’ lips twitch, a flicker of interest showing in those dark eyes. “What is it you want, Adam?” he asks, as if he has no idea of Adam’s intentions, of what he will ask.

“May I have an audience with you?” Adam may not adhere to the old ways, but he knows them. If you wish to bargain with a god, they must be treated with deference.

Hades bows his head, giving Adam permission to continue.

“I’ve come to take back what is mine. I ask that you grant me this favor.”

“And what do I get in return? You are taking one of my souls away, back to the living. That comes at a price, Adam.” His voice is oddly soothing, low and smooth. There’s a languidness to it that deceives; the gods are never merciful.

“A song.”

Laid bare, it sounds foolish, far from a fair trade. Hades’ blank face doesn’t change, except for his eyes; there’s something mocking in that gaze. Let him mock— he doesn’t know the power of Adam’s voice.

“You came all this way for your beloved, ventured into a world that you’ve loudly proclaimed your hatred for, all for him. And yet you have nothing worthy to offer me. Is there nothing else?”

Adam doesn’t bother answering him, simply opens his mouth and sings. He doesn’t know what words leave his lips. He focuses on the pain, on the emptiness, and lets it flow through him, letting his voice weave its spell. He feels exhausted after, overwhelmed. It’s too much to bear after the time he’s spent trying to ignore it.

It is silent but for his loud, gasping breaths, tears stinging his eyes. No one moves or dares to speak.

Then, Persephone—beautiful but so very cold—rises from her throne, descending the dais to take Adam’s hands in hers. She is sobbing openly and kissing his cheeks, and for the first time, Adam can see the girl she was, the one that worked at Demeter’s side to ensure a plentiful harvest.

“You may take him,” is all Hades says, voice as steady as ever.

Adam nods in reply, relishing the way Hades stares unhappily at him as he takes a moment to kiss Persephone’s cheeks and forehead. She smiles at the show of affection, joy transforming her remote beauty into something real and gorgeous.

“Adam?” He’s afraid to look—the Furies have taunted him repeatedly with Kris’ image, coming to him and breaking him down until he believes their lies despite being unable to escape the truth. “Adam?” The voice is closer this time, achingly familiar and deeply loved. He’s afraid to trust.

Adam feels a hand slide into his, warm and alive, callused fingers familiar, a balm for his raw nerves. Before, Adam had wondered if Kris possessed his own magic and his own secrets, if his past contained the stuff of legend as his own does; he knows better now. It’s just Kris, the way Adam feels about him.

Adam needs something more than the touch of Kris’ hand to believe. He wants to look upon him, to hold him close and kiss him, the way he has been unable to for far too long. He starts to turn his head, to see for himself that this isn’t another cruel trick, when Hades speaks.

“On one condition.”

Persephone turns to face him, about to protest, but Adam stops her. No good will come of her intervening; gods don’t like to be argued with. He wants nothing more than to argue, to rail at Hades and all the gods for their twisted pleasure in toying with others’ lives and feelings.

But this is for Kris. To ensure that he leaves the Underworld with Adam, he has to play by Hades’ rules. Adam will do anything if he gets Kris back.

Hades’ impassive mask cracks for the first time, a slow, smug smile on his lips. “You must follow these terms. If you do, you and your beloved will be free, not to return until it is truly your time.”

“I don’t appreciate being toyed with,” Adam says between gritted teeth, fighting to keep his voice even, Kris’ hand holding tight the only thing grounding him.

“I’m not, Adam. Just follow my terms and this will all be over.”

Everything in him is telling him not to agree, not to trust this snake, as despicable as the other gods but less overt in his cruelty. But this is for Kris. Adam sighs, nodding his consent.

“You cannot look upon him until you’ve left the Underworld. While still in the shadows of my realm, you may not see his face, you may not hear his voice.” Hades pauses, eyes locking onto Adam’s. “You may not touch his hand.” Adam drops it as if he’s been burnt. Hades smirks, eyes glittering at the despair rolling off of Adam in waves. “If you do, he remains here for eternity, lost to you until your own time to enter my realm arrives. Do you accept these terms?”

He feels like he’s choking, unable to breathe without the physical reminder that Kris is behind him, alive and whole. Adam can’t do this. He cannot possibly agree to this and win.

“Agreed,” Adam says grimly, strengthening his resolve. There was never any other choice. He would do anything for Kris, even subject himself to the whims of the gods.

The thought does little to comfort him as he begins his trek back with nothing but faith that Kris is behind him, sure that Adam will lead them both home, and the memory of the cold satisfaction in Hades’ eyes as he watched them leave.

The gods are never merciful.


End file.
